One liner

And I had so many plans to write, write, write over the Christmas break, but too much "stuff"  got in the way!

But I'm back on track, starting slowly!

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 13 - A Great One Liner...This week you need to come up with one good line to describe a part of your day. It can be 'real life' or fiction. But it must tell us 'who did what'. It has to be an amazing line, like a tiny little paper plane that must travel a big distance (figuratively speaking) with only a few folds ... Every word in that line must earn its place, or be cut as excess baggage. Let's get thinking about each sentence as though every word counts, like working one group of muscles to show how much weight they can carry.

Caught mid-snarl by the bleep of her i-phone she turned from her tired mother, and reading the message, a glow of delight shone from her gold-blue eyes.

No going back..

I've had the pleasure of doing a written interview for Sarah on her awesome blog in the past week. She talks about "that space in between..." all sorts of things, the space between being a woman with no children and then a mother, the space between lost and gone, and many other thoughtful concepts.
I joined her with my space, one that is on my mind a lot at the moment - the space between me as a mother of semi-dependent children (teens) and the space that will gape as I transition to an empty nester, whenever that ends up being. I wrote this with a gentle sense of melancholy...
Have a look at the post here.

Nineteen

I'm still going with trying to link my pieces into an ongoing story starting with Sacrifice , then Secrets  and next...

Nineteen

She’d  been in labour for 16 hours and had tried her  best to relax and go with the flow, but the agony in her back was unrelenting, even when the contractions relaxed. The knowledgeable ones had stolen concerned glances at the tracings of her baby’s heart beat and with the rustle of a white coat, a decision was made. Nineteen was the last number she remembered counting before she slid under the heavy influence of the anaesthetic, like an exhausted sailor unable to keep himself afloat.  As Ella slowly drifted to the surface of her awareness, she could hear a baby’s snuffle and mewl as she groggily opened her eyes.  She watched her mother next to her, entranced and counting tiny digits, “my darling, she’s so perfect, so just like you”.

photo from http://curiousphotos.blogspot.com

Glorious Luang Prabang

washing day for the monks

I loved reading Jennifer’s post about Elephant riding in Luang Prabang, Laos. This is my favourite place in the world, having discovered it 2 years ago. We had a glorious week there and I long to return. Sadly, the Western World will change it, and as with many Indochinese countries, this will happen quickly. A saving grace for Luang Prabang, though, despite its International airport, is its inclusion on the UNESCO World Heritage protected list .

So, back to the Elephants – we too went elephant riding and whilst I adored the elephants, such sage creatures, I missed out on Jennifer’s joy. My overwhelming emotion was terror, not of interacting with these magnificent creatures, but of being up on top of them. I had an uncontrollable sense that I would fall off (and my son and I were on the big one!). The children, of course, thought this was hysterically funny, which was good really, as it did help me loosen up, except for my arm muscles which were clamped tightly to the seat.

me looking calmer than I felt  - check out the mahout texting as we ride!

The others were brave enough to ride on the neck of the elephant and were charmed by the way it wrapped its ears around their legs to hold them steady when going downhill.

Hang on!

 Another highlight of the stay was the morning procession of monks accepting alms. A very peaceful, gentle morning ritual. As I write this and look through my photos, yet again, I yearn to return.

The morning procession of monks

Ricketty bridge - did I really walk over this?

Utopia - an aptly named cafe/bar/restaurant on bamboo platforms up above the  river

Secrets

I'm trying to take Gill's good advice from Inkpaperpen and draw out some of my work into longer pieces by running stories together, so here goes - this follows from Sacrifice which you can read here

“They’ll always catch you up”, Ella's Grandma had said. Wiping her hands on her checked apron, she turned and shook her head at the 5 year old licking the mixing spoon – “they’ll always catch you up , secrets and lies”.

She gently smiled at the memory as she considered what to do, to keep it a secret or to tell? No-one really knew, they had their theories of course but no-one knew who the father was, not even him.  For the moment she could hold her knowledge close, it didn’t matter, it had no bearing on today or tomorrow or the next day.

WoW - Notre Dame de Paris

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 26 - Look at the photo at the top of this post. What does it inspire in you? Set your timer for 5 minutes. With the photo in mind, write the first words that come into your head until the buzzer rings. If you aren't a visual person, you could try lighting a few candles and writing by candlelight. Different sensory experiences can be useful for inspiring creative writing so please play around to make the prompt suit your writing needs. If you do try writing by candlelight, let us know. I'd love to know how it works for you!


Link here for this week's WoW Notre Dame de Paris

I don't know why such a grim story came to mind...

She slid into her head, dredging memories from her past as she gazed at the flickering flames . The thick sandstone walls were cold and still, she shivered slightly and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. The world had changed – what had once been condoned by silence was no longer ignored, but that was of little consolation to her. As she knelt, she wondered why she had – kneeling felt like what she should do in such a place, but prayer would not come to her.

She saw her young self, innocent earnest face above white robes as she followed the holy man, walking in his footsteps and self opened in trust. She fleetingly felt the confusion again, before she closed down the memory.

She stood slowly and turned toward the back of the church. For the last time, she gazed at the beautiful glass windows, bathed in candlelight. She thought of the implications of her next move, of the telling and the consequences. Wondering if she had the courage to go through with it, she knew that she must.

Sacrifice

Link here to Lillie's blog to participate!! Five Sentence fiction
What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.

This week’s inspiration word is: SACRIFICE

Ella sat at home alone, eyes fixed forward and her mottled skin lit up by the screen she faced. She scrolled through the pictures of longhaired girls in formal dresses, pink black blue, towering heels, on arms of pock faced laughing boys. A tear slid the length of her cheek as her blurred eyes read through the comments, the tags, the joy and the fun. As she straightened her spine, sighed and awkwardly stood , she told herself again  – my life will be different. She caught her breath as she felt the kick inside and instinctively cradled her belly – yes, I have made my choice.

WoW - in my neighbourhood

I'm in another city at a conference this week which has been crazy busy, but stimulating and interesting. But I HAD to make time to do my writing!

Her mind was a jungle, a jumble of past and present, of real and imagined.  Living as she did, in her tiny unit on a busy street, life was confusing, to say the least.

She thought of herself as a queen, her throne the bus seat on the main road, her crown a faded carroty halo, roots all grey. People either ignored her, eyed her suspiciously and took wide berth, or (only the very brave ones) said hello.

Some days were orange and filled with irritability, others were blue and quieter. On these days, when the voices were just mumbles, she would sit by the water and keep the seagulls company, smoke in hand.

On orange days, all sorts of chaos could ensue. One day, when the cacophony in her head was all too much, the men in blue had taken her to hospital. Whilst the food was good, it was a bad mad place to be and she had promised to behave if she could just go home.

Now that the nice girl comes and gives her a monthly jab, the noises are mere murmurs, and she can get on with chatting to friendly voices. She may not fit in, but this is her home.

Five Sentence Fiction - Delectable!

Go to Lillie's blog to participate FSF delectable
As a cat-lover, this one came to mind this week - light and fluffy !!

Fred had been looking forward to it since breakfast – a day spent lolling around had only added to his feline gustatory expectations.  His Mum had taken to buying him treats since Fluff had gone to the scratching post in the sky, and he guessed she was feeling sad and maybe a little guilty.

As he stretched his paws  in an impressive yoga move he rewound the memory – the bang of the front door, the Lexus flying out of the driveway backwards, the screech and ominous crunch.

Here she comes, he thought, as he leapt up expectantly to see her lay the bowl gently at his feet.  He inhaled the aroma briefly, before tucking in blissfully, savouring the jellied fish mousse and licking his chops  - “Thanks Mum, that was delectable”!

We are learning to make fire

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 23 - Write the words of Margaret Atwood at the top of your page "We are learning to make fire". Set your timer to 5 minutes. Write the first words that come into your head after the prompt. Stop when the buzzer rings.

“And then we will learn to put it out” declared Sid, the new OH and S officer, as he confidently piled papers high. “Fire training is compulsory, you know”.

Snickers in the back row  - “sounds like Boy Scouts”, “ nah, Girl Guides” “aren’t we a bit old for that?” as elbows nudged and eyes rolled.

“C’mon guys” sighed Sarah, “you know we have to sign the whole group off or the boss won’t subsidise the Christmas Party, lets just get on with it”.

“OK then Sarah, you can be my helper” Sid smirked as he handed her the matches and beckoned her close. He did like a pretty girl in panty hose. His chest puffed with importance, as he splashed petrol over the papery tower. “Nothing like a fire-starter”.

Sarah hesitated as she opened the box and slid out a match, “are you sure this is safe?”

“I’m the Safety Officer, sweetheart, of course it’s safe” were the last words he uttered as the flames lept skywards.

FSF - Bewitched

Five Sentence Fiction - Bewitched

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful 
punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then 
anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on 
the inspiration word. The word does not have to appear in your five 
sentences, just take your inspiration from that word.

This week’s inspiration word is: BEWITCHED

He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she giggled and stretched her coltish legs, flicking her hair over her shoulder. She didn’t even know he existed as he watched her from under the trees, a lone satellite shadowing the popular crowd.

Head thrown back, she laughed from her belly at a joke unheard as he edged closer. He could see the penned inky hearts on her arm but they were not for him. Oh, for the courage to speak to her - the thought of it alone stopped his breath as he turned away downcast.

High and dry

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 22 - Select a piece of music that reflects the mood of writing you'd like to aim for. Press play. Start free writing. Write the first words that come into your head. When the music's over, so is the writing.


Whoa, 4 minutes isn't very long! I love pretty well everything Radiohead, but this one is just beautiful.
PS  Friday - I posted on Wednesday, but felt the piece incomplete, so have added to it today!


High and Dry

Away from it all, away from the city, an unplanned flight from the mundane. I cling to his back as we speed up the motorway, cares floating behind as lightly as the wind takes them. My heart strains against the curve of his back as the road winds ahead.

A chance meeting, a night to remember and then this leap. He asked me to fly with him, fly away and I have. Brief thoughts of responsibility, of the risk I’m taking are merely snatched from me as what I know slides behind.

A flashback to the surprise on mother’s face, a hint of sadness or was it fear?

Am I mad going with my impulse and trusting him? Echoes of news reports shudder through my brain, images of missing persons, of tearful families, of taped bushland scenes.

A sucker for a bad boy, Jack was right up my alley - bearded , brash and free of spirit. I brush away a loose hair from my lips and recall his mouth on mine, sure and intent.

No, this felt right. I’d thrown my question to the skies just 3 weeks ago, and he was my answer. Yes, this was right. I take a breath and snuggle in tightly.

Me? A Versatile blogger Award?

A Big Thankyou,  Lillie. I certainly didn't expect awards when I started this blogging caper, but it's a little thrilling nonetheless!
So here are the rules (see links below)

If you are nominated, you’ve been awarded the Versatile Blogger award.

•  Thank the person who gave you this award. That’s common courtesy.
•  Include a link to their blog. That’s also common courtesy — if you can figure out how to do it.
•  Next, select 15 blogs/bloggers that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly.
•  Nominate those 15 bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award — you might include a link to this site.
•  Finally, tell the person who nominated you 7 things about yourself

So I've already thanked Lillie and here's her link here 
http://lilliemcferrin.blogspot.com


15 blogs - Hooley dooley, now that's a hard one because I don't spend that much time reading, more writing!  OK, I'm going to break the rules and plead other priorities, I'll never publish if I try to get to 15!


1) Sarah @ thatspaceinbetween - you tweaked a sleeping interest in writing and I love your blog, a mix of humour and tender seriousness
2) Gill @ Inkpaperpen  - you give me the scaffold to hang my words
3) Versatile blogger - I looked you up to work this thing out
4) Sarah Mac @ peopledonteatenoughfudge for your incisive and witty posts (I'm still giggling over Bingo boobs) and your conscientious feedback. 
5) Jayne @ Writing without pay your comments and posts are always considered, meaningful and well written 


7 things about me
1) I once ate a whole tin of anchovies (only once...)
2) I have 3 cats and aspirations to decline gracefully (or otherwise) as a mad cat-lady
3) my favourite season is spring
4) my favourite colour is purple
5) I wish I had the courage to stop dyeing my hair
6) I long to go back to Laos
7) I'm miserable without sleep

Five Sentence Fiction - Horror

I don't read, watch or write horror, but who's to say there can't be a first time.? I have been playing Plants vs Zombies on my iPad, so maybe that's where this humble piece came from!
Don't forget to go to Lillie's blog for FSF! http://lilliemcferrin.blogspot.com/

Jake had had a rough day – crashing off his skateboard had left him scraped and sore and just a little embarrassed. His parents out for the evening, he wearily dragged himself to bed with his black cat, Frizz, for company.

A vague sense of unease tugged at his senses as he slid under his covers, did he actually latch the back door? As his mind struggled with sleep, the creatures swarmed and lurched up the staircase. Slathering excitedly, the zombies jostled for space on the landing as their leader opened Jake’s door and greedily pounced.

I thought I saw

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 20 - Write the words " I thought I saw" at the top of your page. Set a timer for 5 minutes. Write the first words that come into your head after the prompt. Don't take you pen off the page (or fingers off the keyboard). Stop only when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish. Write beyond 5 minutes if you like, you can link it up as an extra post.


I tried this twice - strictly timed to the 5 mins, with limited editing - I might play around with this as a rewrite sometime. Sort of inspired by the dreamy feel in The Slap last night - Connie's story...

I Thought I saw…

1)

They say it will come when you least expect it. He walked into my life and took up residence as if he’d always been there.

Hey baby, come be with me

Hey baby come lie down beside me, let me kiss you

Hey baby we’ll have such a wonderful life together, you and me

Hey baby you are my love, my only one, my forever…

I though I saw love in his eyes

Silken months of joy, love and desire, happy like never before

As summer faded and leaves grew wizened, promises now lost

I realized I had been mistaken.

2)

Summer sun, steamy breezes, breaths of love and desire

You are my beautiful you are my only

You are my only one

In those eyes, I thought I saw love

Autumn chill, leaves turn golden and sadly fall

No more, summer’s passion passed, now gone

In those eyes, I thought I saw love

Mistaken

Shenanigans - Five Sentence Fiction

Five Sentence Fiction

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the inspiration word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just take your inspiration from that word. 

My first try at Five Sentence Fiction  - here goes!

Nanna had the best legs in the family, always encased in perfect hose. I inhaled the smell of lamb roast as I read, for the hundredth time, the Disiderata on her wall.

Grandad clomped in the back door from the garden, placed grubby hands on her aproned waist and spun her around. “Oh you and your shenanigans”, she giggled, flicking spilt salt over her Irish shoulder.

As he left the room, she turned to me and dropped her voice, “I never could resist a man with a twinkle in his eye”.

Bring me a cup of sunshine...

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 19 - Sunshine in a cup. Write the words of Emily Dickinson: "Bring me sunshine in a cup" at the top of your page. Set a timer for 5 minutes. Write the first words that come into your head after the prompt. Don't take you pen off the page (or fingers off the keyboard). Stop only when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish. Write beyond 5 minutes if you like, you can link it up as an extra post.

This is the first time I've really tried to stick to the time, to let the thoughts flow rather than concentrate on structure and grammar.

She runs on soft tippy toes through the grass.

‘Mummy, come and play with me!”

Bounding into her playhouse she giggles at a private internal joke.

“Come and play, come and play!”

I watch her sunstreaked hair, shiny, her cut still ruined by her last week’s effort with her scissors. Full of life, full of energy, full of ideas, they tumble out of her as rapidly as the speech from her mouth.

“Mummy come play, I’ll make you a picnic”

"What shall we eat my sweet?", I say

“Sandwiches of course, my mummy”

“What will we drink?”

She holds out pudgy hands and tips her buttercup face to me “for you, a cup of sunshine”

Rewrite..

I haven’t been with WoW for long, and as writing is a recently revisited challenge for me, I don’t have much work to analyse, nor time to do it this week – so here’s a quick rewrite.

I have gone with the “in my neighbourhood” piece, the first one I did as your helpful comments made me realise I had confused some of you. Being too close to the story can be blinding, can’t it? I don’t want to change the style as I like the way the writing reflects his brisk anxiety. So my aim is to make the story clearer.

Here goes…

Original

His eyes snap open. The hydraulic hum, the distant smash of glass a far away call to duty. Feet to floor, he dresses quickly, buttons one two three four five, a compulsory sixth tightens his neck. High waisted jeans, longitudinal creases precisely pressed. Hair parted and combed slickly.

His pulse quickens as the noises come closer, anxiety presses in as he anticipates the disruption ahead. Socks, then shoes, laces left over right, under, looped then tightly snapped. Sugared tea stirred, exactly thrice.

He stands outside tense and waiting.  His block runs from Shipley St to Windy Parade and he must keep it right.

‘G’day, mate!!” shouts the garbo over the cacophony of rubbish and recycling. An annoyed dismissal – how dare this troublesome invader expect response?

Machines lift and lower, coloured-lidded bins crash landing spreadeagled in gutters and grass. As the truck moves off, he scuttles into action, dragging them back into place, perfectly lined.

Down the street, house after house, (the units are the biggest anxiety), order is regained. Sweaty palms pocketed, his breathing slows as he surveys his morning’s work.

Another Tuesday morning.

Rewrite

His eyes snap open. The hydraulic hum of the truck, the distant smash of glass a far away call to duty. Garbage day has always unsettled him. Feet to floor, he dresses quickly, buttons one two three four five, a compulsory sixth tightens his neck. High waisted jeans, longitudinal creases precisely pressed. Hair parted and combed slickly.

His pulse quickens as the noises come closer, anxiety presses in as he anticipates the disruption ahead. Socks, then shoes, laces left over right, under, looped then tightly snapped. Sugared tea stirred, exactly thrice.

He stands outside tense and waiting.  200 metres of street is his self-enforced job to protect.

‘G’day, mate!!” shouts the approaching careless garbo over the cacophony of rubbish and recycling. An annoyed dismissal – how dare this troublesome invader expect response?

Machines lift and lower, coloured-lidded bins crash landing in gutters and on grass. As the truck moves off, he scuttles into action, dragging them back into place, perfectly lined, as they should be.

Down the street, house after house, (the units are the biggest anxiety), order is regained. Sweaty palms pocketed, his breathing slows as he surveys his morning’s work.

Another Tuesday morning.

Thankyou for commenting!

Sit under a tree and write..WoW Exercise 17

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 17: This week, we are going with Karen's idea for an open choice week. So take a look at the old writing exercises (you can find them listed in my sidebar: WoW Writing Exercises), find one you'd like to try (or retry!) and link it up to the linky below.
5 minutes inspired by a picture.
I can't work out how to copy it, but you can see it here. http://inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/2011/07/sit-under-tree-and-writeits-write-on.html

No-one knew of course. She could never let them know or too many would be at risk. The warnings had been rumbles of mumbles and murmurs, but none had heeded them. Not in their land, not in their homes.

Of course, the political word had been out, that there would be change when the new regime took over, but the extremes that it would go to were never envisaged. As the daughter of a city academic, life had been comfortable, never the sunburnt toil of the country folk. School, enough to eat, a pretty home, space of their own.

And then the trucks and the soldiers, the dictation of enforced poverty and an agrarian state.  Just yesterday the neighbours were taken, told that their new life would be in service of the better good. The screams of the children still echoed in her ears.

She ran to the tree, in the green glade, a special place, her special place. Checking over her shoulder, she made sure she had not been seen. A tear dropped as she slipped her treasures into the rootspace.

What we allow is what we approve*

In the quiet of a rainy Sunday morning before the troops arise, I’m enjoying time with my Mac trawling the net for nothing in particular (as you do).

But I’m stopped dead by a photo. Suri Cruise, running on the beach with Katie, in “her signature high heels”.  No, not Katie in heels, her daughter, Suri. How old is this child, 5? Maybe she just came from a special birthday party…but her mum’s in shorts and a T? What is this? I read further and find this part of her shoe collection worth “$150,000”.

So should I be surprised, they’re celebs, of course? And little girls have always wanted to wear heels (usually their mother’s) but on the beach? So then I threw the whole dilemma into Google, and guess what? This is not just a one off; she’s been doing it for years – Suri in golden high heels in 2009, aged 3 on slippery New York pavements etc etc. Yes I know the heels are ‘only” a few inches…..

So then to the debates on various sites. If we put aside the argument that this is a one-off, and in fact it is regular garb, lets see what the comments are. “Child abuse“ rant some, “get a life, what’s wrong with girls being princesses”, “if they like them, why shouldn’t they wear them” say others. The risk of injury and later orthopaedic problems is pointed out.

But the question I have, is - why are tiny shoes made with high-heels for everyday wear?  How come you can buy them? A bit like the infamous padded bras in (children’s) size 6 so little girls could have breasts like Mummy. HUH? Why can retailers manufacture and market these things?

So girls, why do we grown-ups wear high heels (though I confess I do not because they kill my feet and I fall over)?  In principle, I guess it’s to feel confident and sexy and to enhance height, leg shape and physical appeal to others (based on an ideal of….?). So why are we allowing this to be applied to little girls?  Surely this approach is at best foolish and at worst exploitative. Julie Gale, founder of Kids Free 2 B Kids clearly describes the problem here .

Collective Shout asks the question, “will we let children be children in Australia?” and cites a British six-month independent review into the commercialisation and sexualisation of childhood, commissioned by PM David Cameron. This review called for, amongst other things, retailers to offer age-appropriate clothes for children. The British Retail consortium has published good practice guidelines as a way forward for industry. 

Australia had a senate enquiry in 2008, which released recommendations to the media and marketing/retail industry, but a promised 18 month review has not happened. Do have a look at the above organisations and sign up to their good work if you agree. Novelactivist has a dissenting view, interesting to ponder, though there’s a few too many big words in there for me.

Little girls have so many expectations to conform to, let’s at least let them develop a rudimentary sense of their child-self (and I acknowledge that “dress-ups” in imaginative play is part of this) before they normalise adult sexual dress and behaviour. And before anyone says it, no, I'm not telling anyone what to do, just asking for a little thought.

* Dr Glen Cupit, Senior Lecturer in Child
Development, University of South Australia. Quoted here

WoW - Songbird - Into my arms

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 16:

Hadge says:  Take a favorite (or even random play) song and write the story behind the lyrics, not something inspired by the lyric, but the flesh on the bones of the story. It gives lots of scope for interpretative writing. Use the lyrics or theme of a song  for a piece of flash fiction (50 to 200 words). To clarify, write your version of the story behind the lyrics in a song 

Nick Cave is an Australian musical legend and I adore his musical poetry. My piece is not his meaning of the song, but it is the interpretation I have taken from it. This song has special meaning for me so I've written a (true) fairytale with an unhappy ending.
Listen here whilst you read......
Into my arms

A blue eyed angel, just one, lived with her parents in the sandstone house on the narrow street. A good child became a beautiful woman who fell in and out of love. She studied hard, she partied hard, she laughed a lot, she loved deeply.

As she grew to know her destiny (to work for others, to have a family) fate (or God?) stepped in.

This was not to be. The cells had spoken. For her, a battle royal, a disintegration of body, a struggle of mind, a gentle swell of time before the end.

Last days spent above the perfumed garden in the arms of those who adored her, final breaths as carols chimed.

A comfort of angels fill the candle-lit sandstone house on the narrow street.

why write?

Why write? We write for many different reasons, to communicate, to express thoughts and feelings, to draw pictures with words, to stimulate and extend. Writing can also be an academic exercise, a challenge in thinking, in crafting the perfect expression. For some it can be free flowing, for others precise tight and disciplined.
I write for myself, for a sense of achievement, and to share (perhaps!).

Why do you write?

WoW - the problem

The brief

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 15 - Give yourself some time to notice the people around you. The people who may cross your path each day. The lady in front of you at the supermarket, the man who helps the school kids cross the road, a neighbour, a waitress in a cafe, a librarian, anyone at all. Choose one person, someone you don't know, and this person will become the basis of the week's writing exercise. Describe this person as you see them, describe their surroundings. Then imagine a problem, create conflict for this person. Describe the conflict. Describe how your character deals with the problem. The conflict might resolve itself, it might not. It is up to you. Perhaps, the lady in the supermarket has forgotten her wallet. Does she bursts into tears? Maybe the librarian finds a lost child. The aim is to show how your character responds to conflict and in the process, reveal something about that character. Tell us their story.


Let's aim for around 200 words, keeping with the theme of the last few weeks (to make each word count).

This was fun! I had a few characters in mind, but this guy intrigues me every time I see him.

His eyes snap open. The hydraulic hum, the distant smash of glass a far away call to duty. Feet to floor, he dresses quickly, buttons one two three four five, a compulsory sixth tightens his neck. High waisted jeans, longitudinal creases precisely pressed. Hair parted and combed slickly.

His pulse quickens as the noises come closer, anxiety presses in as he anticipates the disruption ahead. Socks, then shoes, laces left over right, under, looped then tightly snapped. Sugared tea stirred, exactly thrice.

He stands outside tense and waiting.  His block runs from Shipley St to Windy Parade and he must keep it right.

‘G’day, mate!!” shouts the garbo over the cacophony of rubbish and recycling. An annoyed dismissal – how dare this troublesome invader expect response?

Machines lift and lower, coloured-lidded bins crash landing spreadeagled in gutters and grass. As the truck moves off, he scuttles into action, dragging them back into place, perfectly lined.

Down the street, house after house, (the units are the biggest anxiety), order is regained. Sweaty palms pocketed, his breathing slows as he surveys his morning’s work.

Another Tuesday morning.

Would love your feedback, positive or negative!

ship song project

weekend away

Sitting with family and friends, watching tennis, a lazy day of laughs and sharing. Leaving the big smoke for the space and green and starry skies - a headclearing space refreshes for return.

Rewrite...The God of Small things

Write on Wednesday Exercise 14 - The Mighty Mighty Rewrite...

Zanni: I did a workshop with literary author Mj Hyland, who teachers Masters in Creative Writing at Manchester University. She asked us to choose our favourite book, take the first paragraph and then write our own content into the paragraph, keeping the structure, tone, language etc. It's really helpful!

Here's my first go at WoW, I don't think I've attempted creative writing since school days! 

I love the God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy. I've tried to keep the tone and language, but change the context and weather.

Original

"May in Ayemenem is a hot, brooding month. The days are long and humid. The river shrinks and black crows gorge on bright mangoes in still, dustgreen trees. Red bananas ripen. Jackfruits burst. Dissolute bluebottles hum vacuously in the fruity air. Then they stun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, fatly baffled in the sun. The nights are clear but suffused with sloth and sullen expectation."

Rewrite

"February in Bourke is a hot hellish month. The days are long and tortured. Dust blows and seeps slickly into the crevices of cars and homes and families. Mirrored light shimmers a mirage. Black crows gorge on the battle-losers and blowies hum their hypnotic drone.

The nights are cooler but instilled with lethargic anticipation."


Comments welcome!

10 years on...

Where was I on 9/11? When the towers tumbled I was in a world of pain of my own - 9/10 (or 10/9 as we say in Oz) was my day of horror - my beloved father passed away. So in the dark early hours of another sleepless night , when my husband stared in shock at the CNN footage, my reaction was "and.... what does this have to do with me?". My immediate pain could not allow me to absorb that of others.
But over the years, I've been able to consider the incomprehensible, think of the losses of those involved and yesterday, finally watch the outpouring of grief with compassion.

inaugural post

Wow, this time last week I would never have thought I'd have a blog, but a chance conversation with an inspiring woman has led me to this moment. As a young girl, I wanted to be a writer or a librarian, but somehow ended up as a doctor. Not a bad career, which continues to bring in the bacon, offers a privileged view of people and life, and (I like to think) helps people with their daily struggles.
But lately, with my babies nearly grown, I feel a pull to create. And what better time than Spring, to explore new growth!